


Cold Comfort

by submit_to_selfdestruction



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depressing, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Paranoia, Religious Themes, Songfic, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 04:23:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11478528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/submit_to_selfdestruction/pseuds/submit_to_selfdestruction
Summary: He had never been able to heal from the pain.





	Cold Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song "Cold Comfort" by Carpathian Forest. The lyrics at the end are from that very song.

The man sat in the corner of the dark, dingy apartment. The place had remained dark and empty for years, save for the lone image of Jesus Christ right next to the door. There was no furniture, nothing to fill up the room.

The man said his prayers everyday, and he had said them every single day since he was a little boy. His mother had taught him well. She had raised him to be a good Christian boy, to follow the Bible, to pray everyday, to go to church every Sunday.

The man had continuously sought truth. He constantly tried to believe harder in Jesus. He could never seem to find the supposed truth. He could never mentally grasp what all the preachers said, not after what he had been through.

The man had been wounded many a time. There was that one church lady, so sweet, so kind, so evil and malicious. His family never knew what had happened. The things that happened were nothing short of unspeakable, unthinkable to any normal person. He had never been able to heal from the pain. 

The man had always been lonely. He had never been able to make friends, never been able to even speak to most people. He believed they would all hurt him. They would all come after him and only make everything worse.

The man peered out the one small window. It was raining again. He looked on as the rain pattered down, each drop making a small noise as it hit the ground. The weather was as bleak as his mind.

The man turned back and looked at the picture of Jesus. He had prayed to Jesus time and time again. He had heard nothing, seen nothing. He had never gotten a response, never gotten assistance from the God who supposedly loved him, the God who was supposed to help him in times of need. Perhaps Jesus did not exist. Perhaps God did not exist. Perhaps they had merely abandoned him for not having enough faith, for not being good enough, for what had happened all those years ago.

The man had his deceased grandfather’s pistol. The old man had loved that thing, cherished it, even. It lay across the room, just under the image of his supposed Savior.

The man knew it was the only thing he could do at this point. Existence was futile and far too miserable to continue. He had no purpose. Even his beloved God had abandoned him.

The man was never good enough. He couldn’t stand the world, all the cruel people, all the cruel faces, plotting to harm him.

The man held the gun in his hand. He needed to find out the truth. Was there anything beyond this world, higher than this world?  
The man placed his finger on the trigger.

_A spirit rose from the earth, slowly leaving…_

_The cold kiss of release…_

_He discovered nothing._


End file.
